


(when my baby kisses me) chills run up and down my spine

by pleasekalemenow



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Back Massage Smut, Bad Poetry, Coming Untouched, Erogenous Zones, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, I'm literally incapable of not making these two idiots be in love, Love Confessions, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Other, Overstimulation, Touch-Starved, Trans Lyf Rights, gratuitous use of Swedish, if you ask nicely I might share the full shitty poem I wrote for lyf sdjhkfl, it's bad on purpose don't @ me, it's not my fault they just demand it, mine is tender porn, someday I'll write porn that isn't tooth rotting. today is not that day, we all have our methods for coping with quarantine okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23201986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasekalemenow/pseuds/pleasekalemenow
Summary: Asgardian anatomy has some key deviations from the norm, which Marius is all too happy to explore.--“...so, it’s, um, sexual, then?” Marius’s tone is difficult to read. They don’t look at him.“What gave it away? Was it the literal glowing sign?”“Maybe,” he says, fake-offended. There’s a pause. “I take it you’d rather I didn’t, um. Massage you, then?”“...Well.” They still can’t bring themself to look at him, but they can practically hear his head whip around. “I /am/ sore.”(title is from "Some Kind of Wonderful" by Grand Funk Railroad.)
Relationships: Lyfrassir Edda/Marius von Raum
Comments: 37
Kudos: 215
Collections: The Mechanisms After Dark





	(when my baby kisses me) chills run up and down my spine

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! let me know if you need anything tagged. if you enjoy it, consider throwing some kudos and comments my way for my gay rights jar. take care of yourself! <3

“You know, Lyfrassir, I don’t think I’ve ever looked at someone and been able to _see_ the tension knots in their shoulders before,” von Raum says out of the blue. 

Lyf looks up suddenly; they’ve been scribbling poetry in their journal for nearly an hour now, curled up on the sofa in the common room, enjoying some alone time since most of the Mechanisms are taking advantage of the Aurora being docked to wreak some havoc planetside. Poetry is something they did when they were younger, then did for a bit longer when in therapy back when the only thing they had to be in therapy about was their parents’ divorce. They just recently picked it up again because coping skills are in short supply these days. 

Suffice it to say, they were zoning out, and when they look up they’re startled to see von Raum looking at them from the sofa across the room, giving them an expression that would seem amused if the twist of his eyebrows didn’t point to concern. They huff. 

“Fuck off, von Raum.” They turn their attention back to their journal, but fucking Hel he’s already standing and crossing the room. Is there no rest for the weary?

“Maybe later,” comes the immediate response, followed by, “What are you working on that has you so worked up, anyway?”

They almost reply that it would be easier to tell him what isn't working them up these days, but that’s dangerously close to opening up to him, and so in a moment of vague panic, they say: “Poetry.” Dammit. Dammit. That information is going to be dangerous in the hands of von Raum. But he just sits beside them, trying and failing to be subtle about his attempt to read over their shoulder. 

“I didn’t take you for a poetic, Edda.”

“I would say I didn’t take you for a nosy bitch, von Raum, but then I’d be a liar.” They scowl at him, but he just laughs. 

“I’d be offended if you thought I wasn’t. Now. Can I read this?” He takes it without waiting for a response. Lyf tries to take it back, but he’s already standing, holding it high above his head as he reads it, and Lyf foolishly left their gun in the kitchen. 

“Von Raum, give that—”

“Ooh, ‘The Space Between Stars.’ Have you been listening to our stories after all, Lyfrassir?”

Something in their chest coils and they feel their shoulders tense as their breathing grows heavier. “Give it back.”

Von Raum begins to read, and it’s all wrong; he’s not taking their formatting into account at all, just reading it like sentences. They feel sick. “‘The space between stars is filled with colors, the likes of which the stars, in their cold white blaze, could not dream, would not dream.’” He looks at them with a frown. “This isn’t a poem, it doesn’t even rhyme.”

For some reason, that comment manages to bring a bit of their anger to the surface above their panic. “A poem doesn’t have to rhyme, von Raum. Or are you a poet, too?”

He snorts, looking at the poem again. “I might just be. ‘The space between stars is filled with colors which…writhe and pull and...twist…’” He begins to trail off, lowering the journal as realization dawns on his face. “‘...undulating endlessly in my…’” He looks at Lyf, who tries to fix him with a glare but probably just looks more like a wounded space puppy. 

“...So it’s occurring to me that I might have misread this situation,” he says after a very long pause.

“You don’t say,” Lyf deadpans. 

Marius closes the journal, anxiously drumming his fingers on it as he speaks. “When you said ‘poetry’ I assumed you were writing about a crush or something.”

“And _that_ would have been an okay thing to read without permission?”

Marius looks away, clearly uncomfortable. “Well, there’s a bit of a difference between lovingly roasting you about having a crush on me and accidentally dragging you for how you choose to process your trauma.”

“That’s presumptuous,” Lyf says with a scoff, suddenly glad he didn’t do this twenty minutes ago when they were, in fact, writing a poem about him. 

“And that’s not a denial, but I’m—oh fuck.” He seems to realize he’s still holding the journal and holds it back out to them. They take it gingerly. “I’m sorry for being an ass.”

They look at him thoughtfully. “You know, von Raum, you’re being almost tolerable right now.”

He laughs, sitting back down beside them. They don’t miss the fact that he’s sitting a bit closer to them than before. “Don’t tell anyone, I have a reputation to maintain.”

“I make no promises.” They hesitate, torn between the desire to open the journal and continue writing and the desire to not be perceived. 

“I can go, if you want, but—I won’t read over your shoulder if you want to go back to writing.” When they look at von Raum, he’s situated himself so he’s sort of sitting on his side facing them, his cheek pressed against the couch cushion. He’s...pretty close to them. 

“You’re fine. Just.” They sigh. “If you’re going to burst into song, please leave first.”

He laughs. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

Satisfied enough with that answer, they open their book and begin writing again, being careful to angle their body in such a way that, if von Raum gets nosy again, they’ll notice. Much to their shock, he stays quiet beside them as they write. Every moment that passes in silence is both a comfort and a source for anxiety because _what is he doing over there_. Eventually they can’t take it any more and turn to look at him, and his gaze immediately snaps to theirs as his face grows red. 

“What were you looking at?”

Marius opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “You’re so tense, Lyfrassir.”

They blink. “What?”

“I just—you’re normally wearing so many layers, but I can see your muscles tensed up beneath your shirt.” His gaze is altogether too caring, and they squirm under the intensity. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

They swallow. “I mean, sure, but there’s not much to be done about it. I carry my tension in my back and I live with the most stressful people in the universe.”

“What do you mean, there’s not much to be done about it?” He laughs. “I’m not just the best lay on the ship. I’m _also_ the best masseuse. I’d be happy to work those knots out.”

Now, up to this point, there has been no reason for them to explain some of the differences between Asgardian physiology and the standard, both because it was a bit embarrassing to discuss and because, frankly, it was none of their damn business. Now, though, they kind of wish they had gone over at least the _basics_ , because, although von Raum can’t possibly know this, the back of an Asgardian is a major erogenous zone.

“Ah,” they say, intelligently, after a totally-normal amount of silence.

Marius gives an uncomfortable laugh. “I don’t have to, it’s fine, I just thought you might be sore.”

“I _am_ sore, it’s just.” Fuck, this is mortifying. “My back is kind of...sensitive.”

“Ah, so you need a tender touch.” After this line of conversation, they _do_ , but not in the way he means. “That’s alright, I can be gentle. Once I get you loosened up I can get in a bit deeper.”

Fuck. They open their mouth to explain further, but their throat is dry, and they can only manage a weak shrug. Which, apparently, he takes as an okay to trace his hands up from their lower back up to their shoulder and they barely suppress a moan. 

“Marius, _wait_.”

He stops immediately, removing his hands and looking like a deer in headlights. “I’m sorry, were you trying to say no? I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s just.” They bury their face in their hands for a moment, then force themself to make eye contact. They’re certain their cheeks are burning. “Back massages in Yggdrasil are kind of...intimate.”

Marius gives the fakest laugh they’ve heard in a while. “Well, we’re friends, right?”

Suddenly, a screen drops from the ceiling in front of them, with the words:

 _Marius, you idiot, back massages are a sex act for Asgardians. Read your fucking medical documents_.

Lyf isn’t sure whether they want to thank or kill the Aurora, but they definitely want to curl in a ball and hide. Or bolt for the door. Or—could they do both?

“...so, it’s, um, sexual, then?” Marius’s tone is difficult to read. They don’t look at him. 

“What gave it away? Was it the literal glowing sign?”

“ _Maybe_ ,” he says, fake-offended. There’s a pause. “I take it you’d rather I didn’t, um. _Massage_ you, then?”

“...Well.” They still can’t bring themself to look at him, but they can practically _hear_ his head whip around. “I _am_ sore.”

Marius hums thoughtfully, and then every nerve in their body is on high alert as they feel his hands slide under their shirt, not even touching the skin yet. “So if I do _this…_ ” He drags his nails up their spine and this time they can’t hold back their moan. He chuckles darkly, and they shudder, heat coiling low in their gut.

“You’re okay with this?” they ask, voice strained. In response, he digs his thumbs into the muscle where their shoulders meet their neck and kneads, and their hips buck forward involuntarily. They would feel embarrassed if he didn’t continue kneading their shoulders, dragging pleasure out of them as they realize that they were way more fucking tense than they thought. 

“Relax, Lyf.” Marius’s voice is hot against the back of their neck, and they bite their lip, grateful he can’t see their almost-pained expression. Fuck, it’s been too long since they got laid. “You’re in good hands.”

“That’s an understatement,” they say before they can stop themself. They’re going to regret giving that direct a compliment later, they’re sure, but for now he just rewards the comment by adjusting his technique and massaging down their back with all his fingers, like a spider crawling, and they cry out as the sensation goes directly to their dick. “Marius—”

He laughs, but it doesn’t sound judgemental. “Gotta say, wish I’d known earlier how easy it is to make you moan my name.”

“I did not _moan_ your name.”

“Not _yet_.” Then there are fingers digging into their lower back, moving down, down, but changing direction just above the trousers and working back up to their shoulders, each knead and drag of skin on skin making them practically choke on pleasure. They grip the couch cushions with both hands, barely keeping themself in check enough to not grind into the sofa as heat pools between their legs. “How are we feeling, sweetheart?”

Lyf hums in response, but that must not satisfy him, because he removes his hands and they immediately groan at the loss. “I’m good, please, don’t _stop_.”

Marius’s fingers return, feather-light at first, and they bite their lip to choke back a sob. “Glad to hear it. You went so quiet for a minute, I couldn’t be sure.” His tone is joking, but not entirely.

“No--yeah--I--it’s good.” They hardly want to say they’ve been suppressing their moans because they don’t want to prove him right. 

Marius sighs innocently, digging his thumbs in hard and earning a whimper as their grip on the sofa turns into a vice. “You’re so _tight_ , Lyfrassir.” He whispers the word in a gravelly tone and _fuck_ if it isn’t kind of hot. “When was the last time you relaxed?” He squeezes with his whole hand, and the sensation only coils the arousal in their gut tighter. Lyf cries out. “When was the last time someone touched you?”

“Marius…” They’re squirming in place. They’re not sure they have the patience to wait for him to finish working the knots out of their back; not when their dick is throbbing with need. Not when it’s taking every bit of self-control they have not to get themself off right here and now. 

“Mm, that was _almost_ a moan. Guess I just need to get you a little hotter, hm?”

“Then what?”

The fingers slow, and Lyf moves their shoulders impatiently to get him to resume. “What do you mean?”

“After—I moan your name. What happens after that?” He drags his fingernails down their back again and they moan, barely managing to keep his name off their lips. He hasn’t answered the question yet. 

“What do you _want_ to happen, Lyf?”

Their better judgement must have been stored in the knots between their shoulder blades because it disappeared sometime during this massage. “I want you to fuck me, I want you to do whatever you want to me, I don’t even care, just as long as you make me come, I need to come so fucking bad, Marius.”

To their surprise, he doesn’t seem to have a response for that, and for a moment they wish they could see his face but then he’s kneading into them in earnest and they’re writhing on the sofa in torturous pleasure, not quite enough to get them off, but enough to bring their arousal to a blistering peak, and it’s impossible to keep track of the words and noises that are falling out of their mouth but one of them sound like Marius’s name because his arms snake around them to pull them in close and his mouth latches onto their neck, hot tongue tracing down their upper spine and making them pant and shake. They can’t stop their hips from moving anymore, and this time when they grind down they can feel his rock-hard cock through his trousers. 

“Wh-what are you going to do to me?” they manage. 

Marius removes his lips from their neck and turns them around easily so they’re straddling his lap. The ease at which he manhandles them sends a fresh wave of heat between their legs. “I’m going to make you come, Lyf. That’s what you asked for, and I’d be remiss not to oblige.”

He ghosts his fingertips back up their back, making their next words come out choked. “Yes—but—what do _you_ want?” They grind down for emphasis and his head falls back with a moan. 

“To make you _come_. Thought that was clear.”

“You know what I me—fuck, can you keep your hands still for a bloody second? Thank you—you know what I _meant_ , von Raum. What are you getting out of this?”

His expression is stupidly charming: puzzled and endeared at the same time. They’re stricken with the urge to kiss it off him. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Humor me.”

He hesitates. “I get to touch you.”

“And, what, you’ve just been waiting for the chance to get your hands on a bony trauma victim?”

“Not just _any_ bony trauma victim,” he says mirthfully, and his expression really is _much_ too fond. 

“Oh, fuck off, von Raum,” they mutter, unsure of what else to say. 

“I’d rather fuck you, if that’s alright.”

They groan. “Gods, _please_.”

“I had no idea you were this needy, Edda.” He moves his hands around to their front, unbuttoning their shirt from the bottom to the top like a fucking lunatic. “What’s your safeword?”

“Wh—am I going to be _needing_ it?”

He doesn’t look up from his unbuttoning. “It’s a surprise tool that will help us later.”

“I might need it just to get you to stop undoing shirts the wrong fucking way.”

He undoes the last button. “Agree to disagree. Safeword, though?”

“Violin.” Marius has the audacity to look confused, so they elaborate, “Its the least sexy thing I can think of.”

Marius grumbles incoherently. “Maybe I’ll take my violin and go fuck someone else, then.”

“I know the only ‘someone else’ on this ship is you right now, so if you have a violin on your person as we’re about to have sex please do take it and go wank instead.”

“You should really be grateful to the violin, Lyf.” He’s only pouting a little, expression quickly shifting to something more mischievous. “It’s the reason I have such _deft_ fingers.” He hooks his fingers inside their waistband to punctuate his sentence, and they feel a rush of heat, making them grind down on his still-hard cock. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me _your_ safeword?”

“Carmilla.” He doesn’t look them in the eyes when he says it, and he quickly continues, “Are there any other biological differences you have that I should know about? Not judging, just, I’d like a heads-up if there’s an ovipositor situation—”

“Ew, no. Just.” They feel their cheeks heat up. “My thighs and head are, um, also sensitive.”

He smirks at that, undoing their trousers in the correct order since there’s only one button involved. “Good to know.”

They expect him to ask them to stand so he can take their trousers off, but instead they find themself gasping as, with a rather impressive feat of wrist angling, Marius slides his hand down inside trousers and pants alike to slide a finger between their folds. True to his words, Marius is a fucking _master_ at fingering; he makes quick work of bringing them to the point of being doubled over, clutching at his shoulders as they keen.

“F-fuck,” they manage.

“That’s the plan.” His finger dips into their entrance with a little wiggle that makes them shudder.

“ _Åh fan_ ,” they breathe.

He chuckles darkly, and now they can see his face--it’s redder than they’ve ever seen it, arousal spread across his features. He crooks the finger in and then begins to recede, making them whimper involuntarily. “I only just started touching you and you’re _dripping_.”

They grit their teeth. “You’ve _been_ touching me, remember?”

“Hard to forget, handsome. I’m doing my best to burn every moment of this into my memory.” The words come out sweeter than he seems to intend, and before they can respond the fingers are being dragged up the slit and removed from their trousers, then held in front of their lips. “Here. Why don’t you see what I’m talking about.”

Obediently, they lean forward and take his fingers into their mouth, making direct eye contact as they twirl their tongue around them and _suck_. They’re pleased to see him shudder. He doesn’t let them have too much fun, though, before he’s pulling the fingers from his mouth and cupping their cheek instead.

“So _greedy_ , Lyf. I want a taste, too.”

Instinctively, they want to retort that they have an idea for what he could do if he _really_ wants to taste them, but then he’s pulling them forward to meet his lips and it doesn’t seem quite right that this is their first kiss, not just because his fingers were just in their cunt, but also because after all their bickering and flirting and close calls and all the times he’s gotten them into danger because he forgot they aren’t immortal and all the times he’s gotten them out again Lyf is honestly just shocked it didn’t happen sooner. But, all that being said, this kiss feels right--the taste of themself still on their tongue as he kisses them deep and softer than they expected, the drag of friction as his stubble chafes their face when they turn their head to get a better angle, the way he hums softly against their mouth, as if he would be content if kissing like this were the most they ever got up to.

Lyf, however, would _not_ be content with this after two different kinds of foreplay, so they push him back. He offers no resistance, waiting to hear what they have to say with concern.

“Did you get a taste, _älskling?_ ”

“Not enough, I’m afraid. Could use another.” He’s grinning like an idiot and they’d kiss him again if they didn’t have other plans for that mouth of his.

“Perhaps you should take a more direct approach this time around.”

“Couldn’t agree more. Get rid of those clothes, I don’t think I can wait to taste you again.”

Lyf doesn’t need to be told twice. As they quickly step out of their clothes, Marius gets on his knees beside the sofa, looking up at them eagerly. He pats the cushion and they can’t stop themself from laughing a bit as they sit down. 

“What are you laughing at?” He pouts exaggeratedly.

“Nothing, it’s just—I’ve never seen someone look so fucking _eager_ to eat me out before.”

Marius looks almost offended at that. “I don’t know who the fuck you’ve been sleeping with, then, but they’re goddamn idiots.”

Lyf blushes a bit as he settles between their legs, licking his lips as he stares at their cunt for a moment before looking back up at them. 

“May I?”

They lean forward quickly to steal a sloppy kiss. “You’d better.”

To say that Marius’s enthusiasm is no act would be an understatement. He starts out with something approximating restraint, breathing heavily on their cunt before licking slowly and softly up from their hole to their dick, but it quickly shifts into something more desperate as they lose track of where the fuck his tongue is—inside them, tracing circles around their dick, sucking on them, licking their folds—

“ _Helvetes jävla skit_ , Marius—” Both of their hands are tangled in his hair, pulling far too tight to be comfortable and pulling his head in closer, unable to stop themself as their hips try to buck forward, held in place from his firm grip on them. Marius doesn’t seem bothered, though, except for maybe in the euphemistic sense, moaning wantonly into their cunt as he takes them apart with the frantic movements of his tongue. “ _Please_ , Marius, please…”

They don’t have any particular request in mind as they beg other than _please fucking hell do not stop what you’re doing_ but Marius knows what they need better than they do, apparently, and his hands drag down from their hips, shifting so that his short fingernails are digging in slightly as they slide between their legs, pushing them further apart and cutting electric pleasure through them as they scratch the inside of Lyf’s thighs. Without his hands on their hips anymore their hips stutter forward frantically, their grip on his head only tightening as they chase their pleasure on his perfect fucking tongue, and Marius takes it all in stride, his pressure and the low hum he’s been making never faltering for a moment as they come with a strangled cry of his name. 

The sparks of pleasure are still shooting through them faintly when Marius begins to pull away, and they’re a bit surprised he isn’t going for multiples when—

“Oh, _fuck_ , Marius—“

“Something bothering you, sweetheart?”

As a matter of fact, something is bothering them, and they can tell from the cheeky fucking smirk on his face that he’s well aware of what it’s doing to them when he rubs the stubble of his cheeks along the inside of their thighs. They go to grab his head, push him away, but he grabs both of their wrists in his metal hand and pushes their hips into the sofa with his other. 

“Marius, it’s too much, I already—“ They cut themself off with a whimper as he shifts his cheek again and the sensation goes directly to their dick. 

“If you want me to stop, you know what to say.” He rubs his cheek against them again and they would tease him for being so catlike if it didn’t send a wave of too-much-pleasure through them. “Could you come from just this?”

“Technically, yes, but—oh gods fucking _skit_.” He’s turned his head again, his tongue tracing his skin as he moves tantalizingly close to their cunt, his stubble still catching on their skin. 

“How does this feel, Lyfrassir? It sure is pretty when you swear like that.”

“It feels—fuck, Marius, it’s too much—”

“You know your safeword. Do you think you can come again for me?”

At this rate, they definitely can; the pleasure is quickly outpacing the pain, but it’s torture being brought closer to the brink like this without anything on their dick. They twitch at the lack. 

“I—I don’t know, Marius, please, I need you to _touch_ me.”

Another lick, and they’re bucking against his firm grip. “I _am_ touching you.”

“Please, you know what I mean, I need your mouth, your hands, something, please, just touch my dick, I need you to eat me out again—”

“You know, I don’t think you do.” He drags the hand on their hip down again so he’s massaging one thigh as he works his face in earnest against the other, his grip still somehow strong enough to keep them pinned down. The pleasure is too much and not enough and they’ve honestly lost track of what they’re even doing with their body at this point, but despite not having been with an Asgardian before Marius seems to know exactly what the fuck he’s doing, and it’s not long before they’re on the verge of another orgasm from thigh stimulation alone—a feat no _Asgardian_ has accomplished aside from themself, and they’re absolutely coming apart but they manage to stay focused on Marius, their one grounding point in the spinning world—well, space station, as their eyes flutter closed. 

“ _Åh_ fucking _herregud,_ Marius, _min kära_ —“

“Come for me, Lyfrassir.”

And they do. They’ve known since their primary education that, on a molecular level, they are all the descendants of stardust, exploding and burning things powerful enough to grant life to civilizations burning in their veins, but until this moment they’ve never _felt_ that before. Under Marius’s touch they shake apart, come together, feel their veins burning with pleasure and stardust and emotion. Dimly, they return to their senses, Marius resting his chin on their knee and looking at them softly. 

“How are you feeling, _sötnos_?”

Their whole body stiffens suddenly. “Have you. Known Old Norse this entire time?”

He lets out a one-beat chuckle, which does _not_ reassure them. “Um. Yeah? Were you not aware of that?”

Ah, cool. It’s time for them to run away from another star system. “I was most certainly _not_.”

“Oh.” He rubs soothing circles on their hipbone, looking at them with a shit-eating grin. “That does explain why you were willing to declare your love for me so early in this thing. I assumed you’d make me work for it a little more, you know, what with—”

“Oh my gods stop talking please.” They have both hands covering their face now, but they can still feel him looking at them, and when he gently tugs their hands down, they can see his more subdued expression of fondness. 

“Hey, it’s alright, you know.” The fact that he isn’t leading in with a reciprocation does nothing to soothe the roar of embarrassment in their head, but he _does_ look pretty cute when he isn’t being insufferable. “We’ve known each other a long time. It’s not like we just met or anything—“

They stare pointedly at the ceiling. “Not helping, von Raum—“

“And I love you too, is what I was going to loop around to.” They look back at him, and he looks just a bit put-out. It’s, annoyingly enough, very cute. “There was going to be a mini-speech but you ruined it by having shame.”

“Oh no, what a humiliating oversight. Whatever will I do.”

“I’m hoping you’ll kiss me about it.”

“I can’t lean forward right now, Marius, so I’m afraid _you’ll_ have to kiss _me_ .” They squeal when his face ducks back between their legs again. “On the _mouth_ , von Raum.”

This time, he stops being a cheeky arse and leans forward, kissing them sweetly, and they can taste themself again but more importantly they can taste _him_. His taste is impossible to describe and they wouldn’t want to try, but they think they’d like to keep tasting it forever. Then they remember that there’s a part of Marius they haven’t tasted yet, and they pull away. 

“Get on the couch, Marius. I’m sucking your cock.”

He shudders, already leaning in for another kiss. “No, don’t worry about that—“

“I’m not worried. I’m into you. Get on the damn couch.”

He obliges, but pushes them away when they start to get on their knees. “You don’t understand, I—you were really, um.” As he stumbles to explain, they look at his crotch and notice the wet spot there with a rush of weird flattery. 

“You came already,” they note flatly. 

“Yeah, um. Yeah.” Marius starts jittering his knee, but they place a hand on it and it goes still. They look him in the eyes. He’s flushed. It’s cute. 

“Mind if I clean you up?”

His jaw drops a little. “You—you want to—”

“I want to taste you, yeah. That was the best head I’ve literally ever gotten and the only thing that could have been better about it is if you’d somehow been fucking my throat at the same time, but we can do that another time, because right now, I’d really like to clean up the mess you made of your pants.”

Marius makes a few abortive noises with his mouth before managing, “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

The second they have consent they’re opening his trousers and pulling his softening cock out and into their mouth. His head falls back instantly, and they lose themself in the oral fixation for a while as he swears, hands catching in their hair and _pulling_ and oh fuck he probably doesn’t realize their hair is another Zone and he’s basically prepping them for round two. 

“Marius,” they pant. 

“Yeah?” His breathing is far from unaffected himself. Makes sense, since, well. 

“They’re going to be back soon.” They give him what they hope is a meaningful look. Unfortunately, they’re fucking an idiot, because he just stares at them blankly. “Are you taking me back to your room for more or are we going back to _my_ room?”

Marius laughs breathily. “Both of those options involve sex.”

“Yes, that was intentional. Whose room?”

Marius leans forward, using his grip on their hair to pull them up to kiss him and they moan into his mouth. “Mine. I’ve imagined having you against it for so long, I don’t want to wait another minute.”

He leans forward again, but they turn their face, laughing. “‘Having’ me?”

“There are only so many euphemisms for sex, Lyf, just be glad I didn’t say shag. Now do you want me to _have_ you or not?”

They’re still laughing when they let him catch their lips again. “Please.”

**Author's Note:**

> Swedish words used:
> 
> älskling - darling  
> sötnos - sweetheart  
> helvetes - hell  
> jävla - devils (basically shit/fuck though)  
> skit - shit  
> åh herregud - oh my god  
> min kära - my love
> 
> (shoutout to orcamermaid for the translation help!)


End file.
